


You're asking me will my love grow

by aerpocket2020



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family Drama, First Love, First Time, Gen, Sweater Sexual, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28359978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerpocket2020/pseuds/aerpocket2020
Summary: Marta's not sure what to make of these feelings. Things are so simple but so complex between them.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	1. You're asking me will my love grow

**Author's Note:**

> I know! What am I doing? I've got other fics! But this wouldn't let me go! Also gonna be on a break until New Year's maybe??? Will try to work on this though!

Linda hadn’t been a horrible mother right form the start. When Ransom was little, she’d take him to the park, make him breakfast and every weekend they’d visit Elena Cabrera. Her husband was Harlan’s new editor and who allowed a four-year-old Ransom to put his hand on her very pregnant belly whenever her baby daughter was in the mood to kick.

He was always startled by it. He didn’t have any brothers and sisters and didn’t understand babies in general.

A few weeks later Ransom found himself reaching for her belly on their next visit only to discover something was different.

“Where’s the kickin’?” he asked blinking up at Elena in her pale blue dress. “Where’s Marta?”

He’d been told the baby’s name. It was a habit of his to ask about her.

“She’s right here,” Elena had laughed. “In her crib. Do you want to see her?”

Craning over the crib Ransom discovered ‘Marta’ was not just a lump, but a little person. She had pink cheeks and was bundled in a white blankie.

“I want to hold it!” he almost shrieked.

“Ransom!” Linda was trying to quieten him.

“I want to hold it!” he insisted.

“Her,” Elena had giggled, settling him beside her and asking that he hold out his hands and be gentle with baby Marta.

The minute she was in his arms he’d gaped at her. And Marta had yawned and made soft baby noises.

“It’s a dolly!” Ransom had declared and then he’d squeezed too hard in his excitement. That would be a pattern as they grew older.

He had no idea how to be gentle with her.

Marta began to cry. Startled awake by her sudden rough handling.

He got a solid admonishing from Linda but Elena had handled it better.

Her daughter, she liked to say, was much tougher than she looked.

****

When Ransom was younger it made him jealous that Harlan seemed to prefer Marta to him. He doted on her.

She was the granddaughter Linda had never given him and he praised her every achievement.

Her first toddling steps in his massive house, her light little laugh when the puppies licked her hand on the lawn.

Ransom hated it.

He hated how cute and loveable she was to the old man.

(He hated how cute and loveable he found her himself.)

So once when she was taking a nap in her little day bed she had for when she spent Saturdays at Harlan’s he pinched her while she was asleep.

She woke up and wailed. And it didn’t make Ransom feel as good as he thought it would.

Harlan had caught him right then and pulled him into his study for a little talk.

“You need to be nice to Marta,” Harlan said, already suspecting why Ransom was being the way he was. “She’s only a little girl.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Ransom had grumbled. “I was maaaad.”

Their families were close. Somehow.

Which was strange. The Cabreras were loving and close knit. The Thrombeys were a dysfunctional bunch who took their cues from a crafty but distant patriarch who only really seemed to love Marta.

Their lives were woven together by book releases and the fact that Harlan loved to entertain at his massive estate.

It wasn’t uncommon to see him holding Marta in his arms and not really handing her over to her mother until the pool parties and barbecues had wound down.

Ransom, as he got older, found himself growing begrudgingly affectionate with Marta as well.

It was hard not to. She was always greeting him with a hug or offering him something out of her pockets.

Candy. Marbles. Interesting looking pebbles.

He was almost five years older than her and probably old enough to politely decline her little ‘gifts’. After all. They were things she might enjoy more than he did. But she would pout unhappily if he refused them.

It wasn’t that he was particularly fond of her or something. He just didn’t like seeing her unhappy.

And there was another thing.

She followed him around. She only wanted him to play with at parties anymore and it embarrassed him in front of his other nine-year-old friends.

“And what?” Harlan said jovially when he found Ransom hiding under his desk one 4th of July. “Are you doing here young man?”

“Hiding.”

“I can see that genius.”

“From Marta,” he said like it almost made him puke. “I don’t want some dumb girl following me around.”

“Famous last words by many young men.” Harlan said sagely.

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

****

Harlan was like the grandfather Marta never had growing up. He taught her to play Go and to golf and would let her read manuscripts of his unfinished novels just to get her opinion.

Her own father liked to joke that she was probably already in his will.

Marta knew he was wealthy. He was one of the greatest mystery writers of all time. He had several homes and the one he lived in had a heated pool. His gifts for her birthdays and Christmas were always extravagant.

If there was something her parents didn’t think appropriate or too expensive for her to have (they weren’t poor either but they were strict and sensible) she could bet Harlan would suss out what it was and get it for her next birthday.

Still, she never took advantage of that. She had a few whims like most children but she’d been raised with more morals than to take advantage of an old man’s doting affection. And all she really wanted from him was his time and attention.

She didn’t like Ransom at all.

He was mean and catty and called her things like ‘squirt’ and ‘the baby’. She’d turn up at Harlan’s for their Saturday morning hang outs and sometimes find his lanky body sprawled on the sofa texting or watching sports.

“Oh,” he’d sneer. “It’s you.”

“Good morning to you too, Ransom.”

He wasn’t outright mean to her. And she didn’t see him too often. But when he was around, he made it maddeningly clear that he didn’t want _her_ around.

Her mother had laughed at her when she expressed her dislike of Harlan’s oldest grandchild.

“You say that now, but when you were little you adored him. Used to say he was your _novio_ and that you were going to marry him when you got older.”

Marta made a gagging sound at that.

Needless to say, their relationship was cold, but still cordial.

It didn’t take start taking odd turns until one summer when Marta was 13 and was coaxed into drinking a full beer at one of Harlan’s parties by Ransom’s cousin Meg.

Exactly ten seconds after acting tough and finishing off the beer she had to puke so intensely that she ran upstairs to one of the open bedrooms and retched into the toilet for what felt like hours.

She was still feeling sick and crying a little when Ransom turned up out of the blue.

Like Heathcliffe striding across the moors in a fitted white tee and deceptively faded jeans that probably cost more than her whole wardrobe.

She hadn’t seen him for almost two years. He’d been at some smarmy prep school in Boston and was having the time of his life partying it up with Massachusetts’ elite.

“Well, if it isn’t baby Cabrera?” he chortled leaning his large body against the bathroom door frame.

Marta looked up at him through watery eyes and wanted to die.

He stepped a little further into the bathroom mouth quirked in a little disbelieving smile. “Are you drunk?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t wanna be.”

“Okay,” he said, voice surprisingly soft. “This the first time?”

Marta nodded, still sniffling.

He reached over and pulled the flush. Then pulled her off the floor by the elbow and helped her brace on the sink. “There’s a new toothbrush under the sink. wash your face and brush your teeth. And no leaving this room before I get back.”

She did what she was told to do. When she emerged from the bathroom wiping her face and feeling better, he was holding out a bottle of water.

“What’d you have?” he was smiling as he asked. “Beer?”

Marta carefully took the water from him. There was something different about him now, she realised. Something less appalling to her in the cornflower blue of his eyes and the broadness of his chest and shoulders.

And had his eyelashes always been that long?

“Earth to Marta,” he chortled and she realised she’d just been staring at him as she sipped the water. “You good?”

“I guess so,” she pressed a finger to her forehead. “I have a headache.”

“Poor baby.” He purred. The sound of it raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

A year ago. Heck maybe even six months that would’ve annoyed her, but right now to her he sounded almost…sincere.

She glanced down and happened to notice she’d managed to dirty her t shirt too. She groaned unhappily.

“You can borrow my clothes.” He offered, startling her by pulling out a pale blue polo shirt from his duffel, not unlike the one she was wearing, though significantly bigger.

(No doubt to divert suspicion about why she was wearing different clothes. He seemed like he’d be handy if she ever needed to clean up a crime scene.)

“Feel free to hang out for a bit.” He said waving a hand airily as he strolled to the door. “Don’t come downstairs if you still need to barf.”

When she came downstairs in his polo and joined her mother on one of the deck chairs, she found herself looking for him in the crowd of posh publishing employees and their families.

She spotted him flirting with the daughter (God, she hoped it was a daughter) of one of the employees of ‘Blood like Wine’ at the little makeshift bar.

It was probably the alcohol that had soaked her brain but she decided she liked his butt in those jeans and how had she not noticed how incredibly; miserably handsome he was?

“Mija?”

Elena was stroking her hair to get her attention.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You look miles away.”

She was looking at her mom, but she was half-paying attention to Ransom’s full-bodied laugh at something that twerpy blonde was saying.

***

She never did end up returning his shirt. She took a shower when she got home and put it back on after.

There was something comforting about it.

The feel of it and the smell of fabric softner and Ransom that has seeped into the collar.

It remained in a dark corner of her dresser and only served to fuel a hot, trembling sensation that plagued her almost every night as summer wore on because suddenly, he was around a lot more.

He was due to start College soon and was spending the summer as a research assistant for Blood like Wine.

“He’s a little too smart for his own good,” her father had said at the dinner table one night. (It wasn’t necessarily a compliment.) “He’s got Harlan’s brain, but none of his restraint.”

Her mother had smirked a little, “ _Amor,_ Harlan himself was hardly restrained when he was young.”

Marta had sat quietly. Any mention of Ransom made her feel strange inside. She was old enough to understand she’d developed a little crush on him. But something about it felt different from her other crushes on boys in her class or even the cute high schooler who worked at the photo booth at the mall.

It scared her. She’d known him most of her life and he’d never made her skin feel so taut over her body.

In spite of the fact that Francisco Cabrera complained regularly about Ransom, both her parents had a little soft spot for him. Not as much as Harlan was fond of Marta but enough that her father often called him ‘Hugo’, not Ransom as he preferred and her mother always hugged him tightly when they met.

About halfway through the summer both Harlan and Ransom were invited to a rather fancy dinner with the good silverware.

Marta was setting the table when the doorbell rang.

“ _Mija_ , that’ll be Ransom,” her mother called from the kitchen, making her stomach twist. “He said he’d be here earlier.”

She smoothed down her lacy sundress (it was a new one and she studiously told herself she hadn’t worn it because Ransom was coming to dinner) when she went to get the door.

Her source of torment was on the other side in a cream-coloured button down that did amazing things for his eyes.

“Hey, kid.” He said stepping inside with a bouquet of lilies in one hand. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you,” she tried to keep her smile polite. “Mama’s been waiting for you.”

Elena was delighted to see him, especially since he’d brought her favourite flowers. Marta heard them chatting casually while she got a vase for the lilies.

He never called her Mrs Cabrera, not even when he was little, it was always Elena.

Dinner itself was always fun with Harlan around and Ransom, though he could be biting sometimes, added an extra dimension to that. Marta could see now that he was one of the adults now and not in the children category with her and Meg anymore.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He’d put in a little more effort than usual into his appearance and it was making her crazy. She watched helplessly as dinner went on and he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His forearms had those lines she wanted to trace with her fingertips.

After dinner her father was driving Harlan home and Ransom had cracked open another bottle of wine to share with her mother.

She tried to excuse herself but her mother wouldn’t let her.

“Got something for ya,” He said pouring wine into her mother’s glass and then his own. He lifted a smaller bottle of wine out of a paper bag and Elena snorted a little.

“You brought wine for my thirteen-year-old daughter?”

“It’s a dessert wine,” Ransom said grinning. “Barely any alcohol.”

They were seated at the small circular table Marta’s family usually ate at in the kitchen and when she took a seat beside Ransom her knee brushed his.

When he poured her a little more than half the glass, she noticed the label wasn’t in English and the motion made the muscles in his forearm flex appealingly.

“You better not get my daughter drunk, Ransom.” Her mother said. But there wasn’t any heat in her tone. Her parents, who sometimes wouldn’t let her stay over with certain friends, got awfully lax when it came to Ransom.

It was delicious. Sweet and tart on her tongue and a light pink colour.

He grinned at her out of the corner of his eye, while sipping his own glass. “Better than that beer, huh?”

Marta couldn’t help but nod and smile back. In the warm light of the kitchen and Ransom’s big body in that relaxed sprawl she could almost imagine her mother wasn’t even here.

Except…

“Excuse me?” Elena glanced between the two of them, “What beer?”


	2. I don't know, I don't know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things escalate. A character I'd like played by Emily in Paris's Lucas Bravo makes an appearance and promptly pisses off Ransom.

Marta skips class one day when she’s fifteen. It’s the first time she’s done it. It’s something out of Ransom’s playbook, not hers. It’s just that she’s had a horrible day.

Anyway, she ditches after first period and rides her bike up to Harlan’s. Jed the security guard lets her past the gates with no question. She knows Harlan isn’t home but he won’t mind her being there.

It’s the best place to hide.

She’s setting her bike into the bike rack Harlan put in just for her when she spots Ransom’s ugly white convertible and another unfamiliar SUV.

She makes a face as she punches in the passcode to the front door. He’s supposed to be at college.

Marta then makes the eyeball bleaching error of walking into the living room without announcing herself.

“Oh my God!” Ransom screams even as Marta is screaming herself and jumping up and down with her hands over her eyes.

The blonde who’s naked under him on the couch is not doing much better.

“What the fuck are you doing here!”

“What am _I_ doing here?” Ransom is shoving a couch cushion over his groin area. “You’re supposed to be in school!”

“I skipped!”

“Wow, really?” he looks suddenly intrigued despite the situation.

“Um, guys,” The blonde says covering her breasts with her hands. “Maybe we should get our clothes on.”

Ransom’s latest girlfriend, Molly, is actually very nice, Marta discovers once everyone is decent (except maybe Ransom, he’s never decent).

Right now, she’s giving him a very raunchy kiss goodbye at the front door, Marta pretends to gag.

“I’ll see you back in Boston,” she says taking her bag from Ransom and giving Marta a little wave. “Nice meeting you too Marta.”

Marta makes a choking sound as she departs.

Ransom turns to face her with a very condescending look. “Now you’re probably confused by what you just saw.”

Marta groans. “I know what ‘sex’ is Ransom.”

“Really? What’re you like thirteen-.”

“I’m almost sixteen, asshole.”

“Cool cool,” he nods hands tucked into his jeans, “And apparently you’re a delinquent too. Why’re _you_ ditching school?”

Marta shifts uncomfortably. For some reason she feels like she can’t lie to him. “I – I don’t think I want to be friends with Meg anymore.”

Ransom sighs, “You’re gonna need to be more specific than that.”

“She’s fucking my ex-boyfriend.”

She’s pleased to see Ransom’s pink mouth drop open, “You have an ex-boyfriend?”

“Yes, did I mention Meg’s fucking him?”

That makes Ransom laugh, “Stop. Stop.” He strolls over to her and slings an arm around her neck. “I can’t take you saying ‘fucking’ seriously. It’s like watching a baby smoke.”

Marta feigns a struggle against his heavy arm, and he directs them towards the kitchen, “Are you gonna tell my parents I’m here?”

“Course not, babe.” The casual way he says it makes her heart pound. “Long as you don’t tell Harlan I brought a girl here.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“Far from it. I wouldn’t fuck your ex-boyfriend.”

They end up spending a decent day together. They split a lasagne from the refrigerator and after lunch Ransom grabs Harlan’s Go board.

They’ve never played each other before.

“We’ll see how good you really are, when an old softie isn’t letting you win.”

Just for that she thrashes him soundly, both sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

Afterwards he looks up at her with a mute surprise she’s never seen before. “You won.”

“I always win.”

His blue eyes sparkle, “Cocky. I think I like this Marta. Best two out of three?”

“Save your breath. I’ll beat you again.”

She doesn’t. But she wins the next one. And then he wins one.

He’s better than Harlan, but they’re both evenly matched and neither of them are willing to be losers.

It goes on for a bit until Marta glances at the clock and sees its almost 4 and she’s gotta be home before her parents suspect anything.

They give each other a polite nod goodbye at the front door and go off in their own separate directions. That’s the day she stops thinking he’s scum. Whatever, she’s had a mild thing for him for a while, but she’s not so blind to think he was a good guy.

Maybe she’s wrong. Maybe he’s not awful.

Then she remembers she walked in on him buck naked with his girlfriend on a couch in his grandfather’s house.

Oh balls, she thinks, he’s scum alright.

Marta takes a head butt to the face the day before her seventeenth birthday and almost breaks her nose. To add insult to injury her team suffers a crushing defeat and they’re out of the league for the season.

She’s on pain medicine for the weekend so any celebration is out of the picture.

Her father does come home from work earlier than usual to make them dinner…Ransom in tow.

“That’s from _soccer_?” he sneers when he sees her taped up face, sliding a ridiculously colourful scarf off his neck in her foyer (it suits him, the asshole). “Why can’t you play a real sport? Like football.”

Marta, who has Spanish roots on her mother’s side, immediately bristles. “Soccer is a real sport. In fact, it’s _real_ football, you asshole.”

“Sure,” he says too sweetly, deliberately brushing her elbow with his as he walks past, “Hey, your high school team still wear those cute little booty shorts?”

“You disgust me.” Marta says elbowing him a little.

Ransom smirks, “No I don’t.”

“Children,” her father says. “That’s enough. Hugo, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen.”

Marta goes upstairs to lie down, because it’s her birthday and she’s a little loopy on pain meds. Her mother is at the bakery picking up a chocolate cake for her and her dresser has get well cards and birthday presents littering it.

She’s watching TV when Ransom walks into her room without knocking.

“God,” Marta groans from her prone position on the bed. “You can’t just walk into my room without knocking, Ransom”

He walks upto the bed with a little grin and Marta feels a little pit in her stomach from how he towers over her, “I just did. Happy Birthday,” he pulls a little Tiffany and Co. box from a pant pocket. “Plus, it’d only be fair. You’ve already seen _me_ naked.”

“An unfortunate occurrence that will require therapy in my later years no doubt,” She tries not to blush when she says it. He doesn’t need to catch a whiff of the fact that while traumatic, certainly, the image of him panting and those perfect muscles straining is a favourite fantasy of hers.

She _really, really_ needs a boyfriend.

She sits up on her haunches and takes the box from him, “Did Harlan pick this out?”

“No, come on.” He looks offended. “This one’s from me.”

It’s a very tasteful gold necklace with a blue topaz pendant. And exactly something she would wear.

Huh.

“It’s beautiful,” she blinks at him. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah don’t get all mushy.”

Marta wears the necklace to dinner because it goes with everything. He has good taste. She just wishes he wasn’t such a pig.

And what exactly does it say about her that she likes guys like Ransom?

Or maybe, she thinks when Ransom starts bickering with Harlan at dinner, it’s not guys like Ransom but Ransom specifically.

Which is much, much worse.

The summer Ransom graduates from college Harlan throws him an elaborate dinner party at a fancy restaurant in Boston.

The rest of the Thrombeys, and Marta and her parents are invited of course. Some of his college friends are going to be there, too.

Marta wonders what that even looks like. Ransom was always popular in high school but he didn’t have a lot of friends per se.

Whatever, okay they were mostly girls. She can’t even remember a time when he’d been single.

Her parents are very excited. Marta’s mother even lets her buy a dress that she would normally deem ‘too sexy’ for her.

It’s a lush black velvet wrap dress with an asymmetrical hemline that exposes a flash of her one of her toned thighs. Marta spends time rummaging around in her jewellery box after doing her hair in lose waves, looking for the right necklace.

The Tiffany and Co. box stares mockingly at her. The necklace Ransom had given her is perfect for the low softly draped front of her dress that exposes her clavicle and a hint of the curve of her breasts.

When she comes out of her room, Elena puts both hands over her heart and gasps.

“Mi amor,” she says eyes a little dewy. “When did you become a woman?”

Her father is not nearly as excited but he doesn’t force her to go change because they’re already a little late and Harlan said he’d wait for them at the hotel.

“Well, my dear,” Harlan says when they meet him in the lobby. “With the amount I’ve spent on this boy’s education it’s only fitting he comes work for me and pays some of it back.”

“Your blatant nepotism is astounding,” Marta jokes. She’s the only person who can talk to him this way and get away with it. “Do you even want him to work for you? You’re always fighting.”

“I see a lot of myself in that boy.”

Ransom is still Harlan’s favourite grandchild. Marta knows this.

The party is very fancy. Ransom and his friends are drinking 30-year-old scotch at a table in the back and his parents are barely making eye contact with each other.

“Let’s go say hello to Richard and Linda,” Elena tells her husband, then she points at Marta. “Go give Hugo his present.”

Marta tries not to roll her eyes when she turns to approach Ransom and his friends.

“Marta,” he says, jovially, stepping out of his seat in a black suit that’s cut perfectly to his mouth-watering body (Marta wishes she hadn’t walked in on him naked for the 100th time). “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

He reaches out and gives her a very tight, slightly awkward hug, because he’s already a little tipsy. “No, you weren’t.” she squeaks over his shoulder, almost hitting him with his gift.

When he releases her, his friends are chuckling and glancing up at her with interest. There’s two girls and two guys. They seem like decent people. More sophisticated well-educated sort than the trust fund fraternity/sorority kind she was expecting.

One of them actually gets up and grabs a chair for her so she can join them.

“Thank you,” Marta smiles at the guy. He’s cute. Brown hair, green eyes and great cheek bones.

“You’re welcome.” He and Ransom take their seats again and he immediately begins tearing open his present like a 5 year-old.

“So, _you’re_ Marta.” The guy narrows his eyes at her with a little smile. “ _The_ Marta.”

Marta’s confused, but the guy is laughing. “When Ransom talks about you, he makes you seem like a little kid.”

“She _is_ a kid, Oliver” Ransom says, making Marta give him a dirty look. Still, the fact that he’s mentioned her to his friends is more than a little surprising. There’s a low whistle from Ransom when he opens the box because his graduation present from her parents is a Rolex. Something called a Daytona Cosmograph that’s typically worn by race car drivers.

“Your Dad is the best,” Ransom says, knowingly. He and Francisco both enjoy fast cars and he’s already slipping the watch he’s wearing off his wrist so he can put his new one on. He turns the watch over and grins at the engraving. “I’m gonna go thank him.”

He’s pushing away from the table when Marta realises, he’s about to leave her with strangers.

“He’s already pretty hammered, isn’t he?” Oliver says suddenly as they watch Ransom wobble away from the table.

“I rarely meet him sober,” Marta says dryly to him. “How long before he started drinking today?”

“He had a flask in his graduation gown.”

“Yep,” Marta sighs. “That’s Ransom.”

“For the record,” Oliver is grinning at her. “I don’t think he’s an alcoholic. Just- “

“And incorrigible rascal?” Marta offers making Oliver and the rest laugh.

“He said you two grew up together,” Oliver says, gesturing for a waiter to bring the appetizers over to their table.

“Kind of,” Marta shrugs. “He’s five years older than me. It wasn’t so much growing up together as me watching him live it large.”

Oliver nods, their gaze wandering over to where Ransom is hugging her parents. “You must be close, now at least.”

“Not really,” Marta says dryly. “I don’t think you get close to Ransom. You stand at a safe distance and hope he doesn’t operate heavy machinery.”

“So, what about you?’

“What about me?” Marta says.

“Do you like to ‘live it large’?”

Marta grins at him, “I’m on the chess team and I play soccer. I’m a senior in high school and not even the cool kind.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Oliver says warmly. “I think you’re pretty cool.”

She loses track of Ransom as the party winds down, mostly hanging out with Oliver for the evening. He’s a business management major like Ransom, but he seems less problematic.

When the party ends everyone is saying goodbye in the hotel lobby and Oliver asks for her number.

“Let’s have dinner sometime,” he says handing her his phone for her number. “I’ll text you.”

“Sure,” Marta says at the same time Ransom shows up at her shoulder with a, “What’s going on here?”

He glances at the phones in their hands and an incredulous expression spreads across his face, “You bastard,” he says, comically angry. “Are you trying to get in Marta’s panties?”

“Ransom!”

“Hey, come on,” Oliver chuckles unphased, both raised hands in a gesture of surrender. “I only asked Marta to dinner.”

“Marta’s not allowed to be asked to _dinner_. She hasn’t even been to Prom.”

“Okay then,” Oliver shrugs. “Marta, would you like me to take you to Prom?”

“Eat shit, Oliver.” Ransom says.

“Oh my God,” Marta groans, covering her face with one hand briefly, then glaring at Ransom. “Will you stop! This is none of your business.”

“Yes, it is,” Ransom nods. “He’s a man-whore.”

Marta gasps at the same time, Oliver lets out a hearty chuckle.

“You know,” he says staring Ransom right in the eye. “That’s awfully hypocritical of you.”

“I’m only looking after, Marta.” Ransom says, laying one hand on her shoulder and making her scoff.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Oliver is giving the hand on Marta’s shoulder an indecipherable look. “That’s what you’re worried about. _Her_ best interests.”

He turns to leave and Marta stands there mortified for a moment before turning and shrugging Ransom’s hand away violently.

“Thanks a lot! He probably won’t even call me.”

“Good!”

“I liked him.”

“You met him three hours ago.”

“Which is the length of _your_ longest relationship!”

“That’s fine with me,” Ransom says laughing. “As long as Oliver isn’t who you ruin your horny little life with.”

The slap is loud enough that it gets her parent’s and Harlan’s attention.

Ransom’s face twists hard to one side and Marta feels pain all the way to the bones of her wrist.

She’s breathing hard when her mother pulls her to her side, demanding to know what’s going on.

Harlan is grabbing Ransom by the elbow and marching him aside.

“What happened?” Elena demands as they get into their car. “Baby, what were you two arguing about?”

And then Marta buries her face in her hands and cries, because she hates him and she’s in pain somewhere in the depths of her soul and can’t explain why.

Ransom's friend Oliver


	3. You stick around, now it may show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta and Ransom spend some time alone together.

Marta’s parents have planned a joint vacation to Hawaii with Harlan and Ransom that same summer she slaps him. So, although they’ve been avoiding each other it can’t go on forever.   
“So, he said something idiotic,” Elena is scolding her as the plane lands. “It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. You two need to make up.”  
“We’re not even friends.” Marta rolls her eyes.   
“No, of course you’re not friends. You’re family.”  
She’s not in the best mood when she lands at the airport, but the combination of sun, sea and spectacular scenery does wonders for her mood as they drive to the hotel.   
Marta even has her own suite with a little living room and private lap pool. She celebrates by bounding spread eagled on her queen bed and falling asleep for four hours to the sound of the waves from her open balcony.  
She’s awakened from drooling on her pillow by the sound of the room’s phone.   
“Mija, Harlan and Ransom are here.” Her mother is saying. “We’re going to meet them for dinner.”  
She trails after her parents is an off shoulder white sundress on the way to the restaurant. She’s not too excited about seeing her nemesis again.   
Harlan hugs her tightly and Ransom gives her a curt nod.   
“Marta.”  
“Hugh.”  
“Ay dios mio.” Elena rolls her eyes.   
Despite being seated next to him at the swanky restaurant they don’t really look at one another, her mostly stuffing her face and Ransom polishing off his beer. The worst though is the feeling of being so aware of him. The relaxed sprawl of his big body and broadness of him in his linen shirt.   
“I think I’m going to spend this trip writing a little,” Harlan says smiling.   
“The point of this trip is to relax, Cabron.” Francisco says, wrapping an arm around his wife.   
“Writing is how I relax.” Harlan corrects him.   
Marta goes back to her room for a shower after dinner. she’s just come out in one of those big fluffy white towels when there’s a knock on the door.   
She goes to open it, thinking it’s her mother, but to her utter surprise sees that it’s Ransom leaning on the door frame.   
“Hi,” he says, voice a little warmer than it is these days. “Catch you at a bad time?”  
“Um, no” she twists her hands into the lapels of her robe because, she’s bare and damp beneath and he’s actually leaning in a little close. “Just cleaning up a little.”  
He nods , eyes flickering briefly to her throat before clearing his own, “I’m going surfing tomorrow morning. You wanna join me?”  
Oh, an olive branch?  
Okay, now she feels like a jerk for slapping him like that. But…  
“I would but I don’t know how. I don’t even have a board.”  
“I’ll teach you,” he says, the low timber of his voice surprising her a little. “And I’ll get you a board and a wet suit. You’re a small to medium right?”  
“Yep,” she says, blinking at him. Now, would be a good time to apologise but Marta can’t…she just can’t.   
Ransom puffs out a little breath. “So, I’ll see you at the beach tomorrow? 6 am?”  
“I’ll be there.”  
“Well, okay,” another exhale. “Good night.”  
“Good night, Ransom.”  
After she closes the door behind him, she’s kicking herself for not saying ‘sorry’ when she wanted to. 

“Hey,” Marta is saying nervously the next morning while she tries to stay still on her board. “Are there any sharks out here?”  
“Well, yeah,” Ransom grins up at her while he bobs beside her board in the surf. “But at best it’d try to take a nibble. Not go full on ‘Jaws’.”  
“How reassuring.”  
“Relax,” he says. “Shark wouldn’t be interested in nibbling on you. There’s not a lot to snack on. Except maybe your ass.”  
Marta squeaks indignantly but Ransom is looking behind her and urging her to try and stand up on her board for the next wave.   
“You’re too far back on the board,” he says placing one big warm palm on her lower back. “Scoot forward a bit wouldja?”  
Her latest attempt goes marginally better than her first, because she only manages to stay on the board for maybe a full minute before wiping out.   
Ransom is paddling towards her while she floats in the water. “That wasn’t horrible.”  
Marta wants to be angry; she really does but the soft lap of warm tropical water and the mountains against the sky are making her incredibly relaxed. “I think I’m going to paddle back to shore. I’m a little tired.”   
Ransom nods, “We’ve been out here for almost three hours. Let’s go get breakfast.”  
Marta gets a little refresher of shirtless Ransom when he strips out of his wetsuit and under the shower by the beach.   
Oh boy.  
“You say something?” he peeks around the shower suddenly, now only in swim trunks and Marta almost yelps.   
“I- I was just talking to myself.”  
“Hit your head on your board earlier?”  
“Shut up.”   
Ransom chuckles running his hands through his hair and Marta unzips her own wetsuit to step under the second spray.   
“Your parents told us not to wait up for them at breakfast. They seemed pretty tired. What’re you gonna do all day?”  
“I dunno,” she’s squeezing her hair out and shrugging. “I think maybe Harlan and I could hang out.”  
“Grandpa’s buried in drafts,” Ransom peeks around again. “You want to come down to Pearl Harbor with me? You can tell all your little friends back at school.”  
“Well with an invitation like that…”  
Marta mostly listens to music on her phone the entire way to Pearl Harbour. She tries not to stare at Ransom’s muscular forearms on the wheel the whole drive down. 

She tries.   
___________________________________________________________________________  
When they get back to the hotel in time for dinner her mother has left her at least 4 messages.   
“Where were you?” she scolds, the minute Marta calls back. “You’ve been gone all day.”  
“Ransom and I went to Pearl Harbour.”  
“Oh,” she sounds surprised. “So you’ve made up.”  
Well, maybe not in so many words…  
“We’re fine,” she says. “I’ll meet you guys at the buffet in 20 minutes.”  
Had they made up?  
They’d spent the day walking around Pearl Harbour. Ransom had even given her a few of his favourite tid bits about World war 2.   
(And he called her a dork sometimes.)  
They hadn’t spoken much the whole day but it hadn’t been an uncomfortable silence. And while neither of them had actually said the words she felt like he was sorry.   
She was regretting slapping him like that too.   
Sort of.   
Her parents look very relaxed at dinner.   
Too relaxed.  
And kind of…touchy?  
“Did you kids have a good day?” her mother is asking them as they take their seats.   
“We went surfing,” Ransom supplies. “Then to Pearl Harbour. We’re thinking of going biking tomorrow.”  
Marta turns to blink at him. “We are?”  
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. We can bike around Oahu.”  
“Jesus Christ,” Harlan mutters. “I got winded walking to the bathroom earlier. Enjoy the energy while you can. One minute you can stay out all night and the next minute a decent piss is the highlight of your day.”  
“I thought it was waving your cane and telling kids to stay off your lawn.” Ransom grins.   
Marta looks at her parents again. They’re cuddled close to one another and her mother has her head on her father’s shoulder.   
“I’m glad you two are having fun,” Francisco is saying. “It’s the last summer before Marta’s senior year. She should have a good time.”  
“I am the king of good times.” Ransom says, shifting his hands to the back of his head.   
“Hmm, maybe not that much of a good time,” Francisco mutters to his daughter.   
“I’ll take it easy on the fashion drugs,” Marta promises.   
“Awww,” Ransom whines. 

Marta doesn’t even bother to leave a message with her parents the next morning. They mentioned they were going to ‘sleep in’. And Marta doesn’t want to ask them anything more.   
“I think it’s sweet,” Ransom says, when Marta makes a face as they go down to the bike rental place. “You might end up with a baby brother or sister.”  
Marta groans, “Please just shut your mouth.”  
The ride around Oahu is fantastic. Nothing but blue skies and warm sunshine.   
They stop the bikes at a quiet stretch of beach and take dips in the water.   
When Marta comes back from her latest swim Ransom is lying sprawled on a towel in a damp clingy pair of swim trunks and grinning at her from behind his Ray Bans.   
“I could get used to this,” he sighs as Marta give herself a perfunctory rub down with her towel before laying down beside him. “I could bum around Hawaii and write the next great American novel.”  
“Like you could live without the Patriots.”  
“No, no. Come on,” he says, mock seriously. “I can rent a little hut. Play guitar…”  
“…you don’t even sing Christmas carols Ransom…”  
“You could come visit in these skimpy little bikinis of yours.”  
Marta raises herself onto her elbows and frowns at him, “This whole island is full of skimpy bikinis. You don’t need mine.”  
Ransom shrugs, “Forget I said anything then.”  
He sounds weirdly hurt, “Don’t you have a girlfriend or a harem or something?”   
“You make me sound like such a dog.”   
“Weeell, you kind of are.”  
Ransom removes his glasses and she’s confronted with the full weight of his cornflower blue eyes, “For all you know I could be in a committed relationship.”  
Marta’s mouth twitches in a half smile. “Are you?”   
Ransom’s voice drops to something deeper, “Would you care if I was?”  
She’s rolling her eyes and starting to roll away from him when he puts his hand over her rib cage to stop her.  
“Hey?” he says, brows furrowed, voice doing a good imitation of concerned. “What’s going on with you?”  
Marta’s breath stutters out of her, staring at his big palm on the top of her stomach just below her damp bikini top. “Nothing. Come on Ransom let me up.”  
“Not until you tell me why you’ve been so mad at me lately.” He’s rolled closer and the pressure of his hand is firm but not bruising. If he wanted to, he could stroke the curve of her breasts with his thumb. “Come on. What’s with all the snarky comments and digs. What’d I do to have you so pissed at me, sweetheart? I’m not a mind reader.”  
Marta felt her breath leave her, she could see the dusting of sand on his big shoulders and he was close enough she could smell the salt in his dark hair. “What you said at that party was completely uncalled for.”  
Ransom’s hand flexes on her a little. “I know. I was being a shit. Didn’t expect you to hit me though.”  
“I didn’t mean to hit you,” Marta confesses quietly. “I just did.”  
“And I didn’t mean what I said either. You got that? It was just- “  
“-something stupid.” Marta sighs. “I know.”  
“So?” his hand is sliding off her, over her ribs, finger tips brushing her side. “We good?”  
Marta reaches out briefly, fingers brushing the spot where she’d hit him, “We’re good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, neither of them are willing to actually apologize. That's a thing between these two. Also I kind of love writing Marta's parents in this version.


	4. You know I believe and how

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, kiddies! I've upped the rating for some sexy times in this chapter! You were WARNED! Don't forget to leave love and reviews. Let ya girl know how she's doing. Do you love it? Hate it? Are you hear because Chris Evans is so damned frustrating in all the best ways! I want to know!

Marta takes a nap when she gets back to the hotel. She’s not tired from their little day trip around Oahu but she’s a little disturbed. 

Sleeping always makes things better. 

She dreams. 

About Harlan. About her parents. About friends. 

Sometimes it’s Ransom. But not too often. But lately he’s the first thing she thinks about when she wakes. 

This time she dreams about him in full colour. 3D images of him pressing down on her. His weight, both suffocating and comforting. 

It’s awful. 

It’s incredible. 

She feels stretched taught. Like a rubber band about to snap. She wants to scream. 

She can’t. 

When she wakes her pillow is wet. Like she’s been crying. And there’s a headache that’s settled into the front of her head. 

It’s a task to pull herself up. And even then it makes her stomach roil and the only thing she can do is sprint for the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. 

She’s still clammy when she comes back out and she collapses back into her bed reaching weakly for her phone. 

“Hey,” She says when her mom picks up. “I think I’m going to skip dinner. I’m not feeling too great. I’m kind of tired.” 

“Oh no, Mija. Did you overdo it today?” 

“I don’t know, maybe.” Her mouth is like cotton. “I’m going to order some soup, maybe and go to bed.” 

“I’m coming up there.” 

“No, Mama you don’t-“ 

She’s already hung up. A few minutes later her mother is knocking on her door and Marta is answering it with knees that feel like they’re made of jelly. 

“I’m fine, really.” 

“I think it’s a heat stroke.” Elena is leading her to the shower in her suite. “How long were you lying out in the sun today?” 

“Not too long.” 

“Long enough, apparently.” 

Marta feels better after her cold shower and some fussing from her mother. 

They’re watching TV when there’s a knock on the door and her father is poking his head in. 

“Are you alright, Mija?” 

“I’m fine,” Marta assures. “Did I ruin dinner?” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” her father looks relieved. He reaches her bed and presses a hand to her forehead. “I’ve already warned Hugo that he’s not supposed to exhaust you like this.”

“He’s not exhausting me,” Marta says hooking her chin on her mother’s shoulder. “I think I’m tired from soccer and classes and I just crashed.”

It’s not a lie. She’s just made team captain and that involves a lot of extra training and more bullshit from her teammates who don’t really take her seriously because she’s tiny. 

“Alright,” her mother is rising from the bed and tucking the sheets up to her chin. “Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll see you at breakfast.”

They say good night to each other and Marta manages to sleep for a while. Until she has to wake up to pee. And then she doesn’t bother to go back to sleep because she’s a little keyed up. 

She’s surprised to see there’s a message on her phone from Ransom. 

_ Are you feeling okay???  _

The text is hours old and probably from when she didn’t show up at dinner. 

It’s late. She can text him back in the morning. If she does it now he’ll know she’s awake. 

_ I’m great. I think I just over did it.  _

Well, shit. Now he’ll know she’s up. Except he’s probably asleep himself. 

Or maybe he’s lying there in his bed. Sleepily checking his phone. 

Barely dressed.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. 

_ Can’t sleep? _

Her stomach rolls in a way that’s the complete opposite of nausea. This is...exhilarating. 

_ I’m too tired to sleep.  _

That could mean literally anything. 

Right? 

Whatever. She’s not even sure what she’s doing. 

That being said. Mid-night texts seem like something Ransom is intimately familiar with. 

There’s no reply. 

Okay, cool. Maybe he dropped off while texting her. She should just try to sleep again. 

Except there’s a soft knock on the door when she’s fluffing her pillow. 

She barely feels herself walking to the door. And opening it feels like taking a deep breath of cool salty sea air. 

“I didn’t ask for you to come over.”

His eyes are bright. And even from the low light of her room she can make out a smirk lurking somewhere in the carefully neutral expression on his face. “You said you couldn’t sleep. I thought we could play Go. You carry a travel size don’t you?”

“It’s 2.00 a.m., Ransom.”

“ _ You  _ texted  _ me.” _

Marta has to shrug in faux-defeat and gesture him inside at that. 

“I was just making conversation,” she says over her shoulder as he follows her into the sitting area. 

“Sure.” 

“It wasn’t an invite.” she turns to look up at him, noting that he’s stepping into her personal space. “You got that?”

“Riiight.” He’s standing close enough that she can smell the hotel’s coconut body wash and count every long eyelash. Marta would kill for eyelashes like his. 

She doesn’t notice how heavy her breathing is. Until he suddenly reaches out and cups her jaw.

This...this isn’t how they usually play Go. 

“It drove me nuts when I saw you getting so cozy with fucking Oliver.” There’s a feverish edge to his voice and his thumb paints a soft stroke over her full lower lip. 

“I can get cozy with whomever I want Ransom.”

“I know,” he looks distraught, even as his hands shift from the sides of her face to weave into her hair. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She’s expecting a kiss that’s a little more brutal. A harsh press of his mouth on her. 

Maybe even teeth. 

She’s pictured what kissing Ransom would be like. 

A coarse meeting of mouths to match the image of the him fucking that girl on the couch. 

And while he’s hardly gentle. The press of his mouth on hers is something delicious. He tastes like toothpaste. Like the realisation of every wet dream she’s had about him since she was 14. 

There’s a thrill that runs right through her bones at the first stroke of his hand up her back. And then he keeps kissing her and scratching at her scalp until she opens her mouth for him and lets him inside. 

That. 

That he can’t take. And that’s really all it takes for the kiss to shift from something sweet and sensual to something deeper. More erotic. 

Because he wants her as much as she wants him. She can feel it in the way he cups her bottom and helps her grind against him. 

He’s really only wearing a thin pair of cotton pajamas and a t- shirt and Marta can feel every hard line of muscle. All the parts of him she’s wanted to feel with her hands and taste with her mouth. 

Just the thought makes her soak her panties and little sleep shorts. 

God, she can feel her knees turn all liquidy and useless. 

Fortunately he solves that problem for her by picking her up without breaking the kiss and walking them over to the bed. 

She wants to tell him how hot she thinks this is. That she loves how he can just pick her up and move her around. 

That his weight pressing her down on her bed is all she’s dreamed and yearned for in the dead of night for years now. 

Instead what comes out is a soft moan of his name while he kisses her collarbone and pinches her butt a little. 

Her skin feels tight and heated again but when she reaches for the hem of his t-shirt he raises his head with a little growl and pins her wrist to the side of her head. 

“Stop,” he says, blue eyes gleaming as he looms above her. “That’s enough, okay?”

Marta feels the shock run through her. “But I thought…” 

He lowers to kiss her again and the sweet grind of his mouth on hers makes her feel better, but…

But she’s turned on. 

And confused. 

And God Dammit she wants to see him naked in the moonlight. 

“Okay,” Ransom breaks away breathlessly, licking his lips. The action only makes her try to follow him with her mouth. “Stop, okay? I can’t let you get so carried away.”

“Why not?” she drops back on the bed with a little huff. 

She’s angry and very, very confused. 

“I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“But you don’t want me to see anyone else,” she’s suddenly angry. “Make up your fucking mind Ransom.”

“I can’t!” his hand is cupping her thigh and his voice is harsh but she can feel him, thick and hard between the flimsy cotton barriers. “I never have my head on straight when it comes to you.” 

That makes Marta bark out a laugh, “Because you’re such a clear thinker on every other occasion.”

“You’re a little on the young side for me.” 

At that Marta reaches up to kiss him and he doesn’t resist. Not even a little. Kissing her as sexily as before. Even arching into her when she wraps her legs around his waist. 

He’s breathing hard when he pulls aways, but he presses his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut, “That’s- that’s not playing fair.” 

He sounds gruff and shaky and it only makes Marta more determined. “I want you.” She says clearly. “What’s not fair is that you’ll fuck every woman in a 50 mile radius but now you’re pretending to be a gentleman.”

He groans and kisses her briefly again, “I don’t want you to regret this.”

“So make it good,” she slips a hand under his t-shirt to splay over his tightened stomach muscles.

That makes him laugh, “Marta do you even know what ‘good’ is?”

His hand is slipping beneath her shorts to the crease of her thigh. 

“I don’t-” Marta feels her breath shutter, the look in his eyes is so feral even as his hands are gently shifting the edge of her panties. 

“You’ll need to tell me,” he whispers, mouth dipping into not quite a kiss against hers. “I want to know.”

When he touches her she feels like fireworks are exploding behind her eyelids. “Yes,” she feels herself breathe. “Yes, Ransom like that. I want-”

“Me,” he whispers harshly, lowering his mouth to suck her earlobe between his teeth even as he uses her own slick to rub her little nub. “Say you want me again.”

“I do,” she can feel herself start to quiver. “I do want you. More than anything.”

He growls into her jaw then, fingers picking up speed even as he starts to move against her thigh. 

They’re not even naked, Marta realises with a panic as he kisses her again. They’re not even naked and he’s going to make her- 

They swallow each other’s surprised gasps when they come together. Almost like neither of them can really believe what’s happening. 

And she doesn’t let him get away when he rolls off her and onto his side. 

She’s half expecting him to push her away, but he doesn’t. Cuddling her close and kissing her forehead even as their breathing evens into a doze. 

“Next time,” Ransom whispers against her mouth. “I get to see you naked.” 

Marta finds herself nodding as she slumps against his warm chest. 

It’s not the orgasm that’s surprised her. 

It’s this calm as his hand slows in her hair and the rightness of them tangled together after like this that surprises her. 

Because he’s managed to give her something she hadn’t even known she was missing. 

Peace. 

She’s really fucked, isn’t she?


End file.
